


Roof Against the Rain

by Penelope_Writes (aubreyli)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: A tragic absence of Chairman Meow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/Penelope_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec, reeling from familial turmoil, experiences a panic attack.  Magnus helps him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roof Against the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This story would not have been possible without the lovely Brizzbee, beta and cheerleader extraordinaire. All remaining errors are entirely my own.

_96th_   _Street_

 _86_ _th_ _Street_

 _77_ _th_ _Street_

The 6 train is a local.  It’s slower.  He should change trains.  

 _68_ _th_ _Street_

He feels like he’s being dragged, slowly, in small increments.  Drag, then stop.  Drag, then stop.

 _59_ _th_ _Street_

 _51_ _st_ _Street_

He should have taken his bow.  The blades belong to the Institute, but the bow is _his._ Surely, his parents would’ve...

 _Grand Central 42_ _nd_ _Street_

He should have taken his bow.

 _33_ _rd_ _Street_

 _28_ _th_ _Street_

 _23_ _rd_ _Street_

He gets off at 14th Street Union Square.  Gets on the 4.  Sits down.  Closes his eyes.

The train car is an old and rickety one, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and stale urine.  The rattling of the wheels makes his teeth chatter.  Or maybe he’s cold.  He doesn’t really know.

It feels like he’s been on this train for a long time.

Izzy’ll be upset when she finds out that he left without saying goodbye.  Jace is probably pissed.  He should call them – tell them he’s sorry.  Tell them to apologize to Max, that he’s not going to be able to teach him archery, after all.  Izzy can teach him, though; she’s always had better form than Jace.  Maybe Max can have his bow.

He wonders what they’re going to say.  He’s glad he won’t be there for that conversation.  He doesn’t think he could bear to see his little brother look at him the way his parents did tonight, like he was a stranger wearing the skin of their son.  Even his name _(he didn’t think his name could sound like that coming from his_ parents’ _lips)_ sounded foreign, like a word they were saying for the very first time.  

Or possibly, a word they were saying for the very _last_ time.

Suddenly, the walls feel too close, as if the subway car is a soda can being squeezed in a giant hand.  He rushes off the train at the next stop, runs down the platform, up one flight of stairs, then another, until he’s surrounded by open sky.  Icy air stings his lungs, and he keeps running, past darkened shops and apartments and unseeing Mundanes; each breath scraping his throat raw, each step sending spikes of pain up his shins.

His legs are shaking by the time he finally staggers to a stop, and he barely manages to reach a nearby bench before they give out entirely.  He sits, panting, watching his breath swirl and fog as it leaves his mouth.  His fingers feel numb.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, his right hand instinctively reaching back for an arrow—

“Alexander?”

Magnus’s face is pale and luminous above his long, black leather coat.  The sequins on his lapels and the glitter on his cheekbones catch the light from the street lamps, making him sparkle as he moves.

Alec stares at him, and slowly lowers his hands.  “Magnus?  What are you doing here?”

Magnus tilts his head, his smile faltering.  “I… live here.  You’re in front of my building.”  He frowns, dark brows drawing together.  “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?  It’s cold out.”

Alec blinks down at his thin black sweater.  “I… guess I didn’t notice.”

“... Well,” Magnus says, after a moment, “you’re always welcome to brighten up my day with your presence – or my night, as the case may be.”  He holds out a gloved hand and pulls Alec to his feet, flicking a glance up and down his body.  “Have you eaten?  There isn’t much nearby, but just about every place delivers in New York; I do _love_ the twenty-first century.”

Magnus continues talking as he ushers Alec inside.  One hand pressed against Alec’s back, the other gesticulating wildly, he describes the delivery mopeds used by restaurants in Hong Kong, with their insulated boxes behind the seats to keep the food warm.  

The loft is bright, making Alec squint as his eyes adjust.  Underneath his coat and gloves, Magnus is wearing a deep purple shirt shimmering with gold embroidery, and loose, soft-looking blue pants that give off a slight sheen.  His fingers are ringed with silver and gold, and tipped with slightly chipped black nail polish.  Everything about him is so colorful, so vivid, so _real_ in a way that nothing else tonight has been, like seeing a real sunset after having only seen them in pictures.

“—drink?  Alec?”

He blinks, a little startled.  Magnus is frowning at him, a concerned expression on his face.  “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked if you wanted something to drink,” Magnus repeats.  He raises a hand slowly and places it on Alec’s cheek.  “Something warm, perhaps?”

Magnus’s skin is hot, so hot it makes him shudder.  He hadn’t realized how cold he was until Magnus touched him _(his parents didn’t touch him at all tonight; he should have known something was wrong then)_.  Alec turns his face towards Magnus’s palm and parts his lips, breathing in his heat, letting it sink into him and thaw him from the inside out.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks again, sounding a little breathless.

A phone rings, making them both jump.  Magnus’s hand drops from his face; Alec almost reaches for it before he catches himself.  He takes a step back as Magnus pulls his phone out of his back pocket, feeling suddenly awkward and out of place in Magnus’s stylish, opulent home.  He really should go.  It’s a Friday night, Magnus probably has plans—

“Alec?  He’s right here.”  Magnus looks at him, brow furrowed in confusion.  

Alec goes very still.  A rushing, pulsing sound fills his ears.

“Well, I don’t know why he hasn’t been picking up — yes, yes of course.”  Magnus holds out his phone.  He seems to be moving very slowly.  “Your sister would like to speak with you.”

He stares at the phone.  He wants to reach out and take it, but he can’t seem to move.  Cold wells up in him like a rising tide, spreading icy numbness throughout his entire body.  Everything around him begins to blur.  He can’t breathe.  His chest hurts and he’s so dizzy he can’t tell which way is up.  He can’t breathe, he tears at his collar but it doesn’t help, he can’t _breathe_ —

“Alexander?  Alec!” Magnus’s hands are on his shoulders.  His grip bruisingly tight, but his voice is calm and firm.  “Breathe out, Alec. You have to breathe _out._ ”

Alec can hear a high, awful wheezing, and it takes a second to realize that it’s _him,_ trying desperately to suck in air but it’s not _working._ He shakes his head frantically, dark blotches flaring in his vision.

“Try again,” Magnus insists, and cradles Alec’s head in his hands, pushing Alec’s hair away from his face.  “Focus.  Breathe out.  You can do this.”

Alec keeps his eyes on Magnus, swirling in triplicate before his eyes.  He purses his lips, clenches his abs – and then he’s exhaling, slowly at first and then in a great rush.  As soon as his lungs are empty, he inhales, sucking in fresh air again so fast he nearly chokes on it.

“Slowly,” Magnus says, in the same calm, even tone.  “Keep looking at me, Alec.  Breathe in through your nose, try to breathe deep from your belly… here.”  He takes one of Alec’s hands and places it over his belly button.  “Hold it for two seconds, and breathe out.  In, hold it, then _out_.  Ok?  Do it with me.”

Alec breathes.  His inhale stutters when he tries to hold it, but he still manages to exhale.  He does it again, and starts to cough.

“Focus on your body.  Feel your hand move as you breathe.  In – two, three, four.”  Magnus’s finger tap out the beat against Alec’s hand.  “Hold.  Out – two, three, four.”

Alec shuts his eyes and concentrates.  Air flows in, his torso inflates.  Air flows out, his torso deflates.  He tries taking deeper breaths, sucking in all the air his lungs can hold, and expelling it all out on the exhale.  He can hear Magnus breathing in front of him, and he tries to match their rhythms, _in… hold… out._

“Good, you’re doing so well, Alexander.”  Magnus’s voice is gentle and encouraging.  “Just keep breathing.”

Slowly, gradually, the room stops spinning.  Magnus wraps an arm around his back and half-carries him to the living room sofa, murmuring praises and reassurances.  A finger snap, and cool water is brought to his parched lips.

“What was that?” Alec asks, after a few gulps.  His voice sounds hoarse.  “What just happened?”

“Probably a panic attack,” Magnus replies, fingers rubbing small circles on the back of Alec’s neck.  “It’s all right, it’s over now.”

Alec closes his eyes and lets himself bask in Magnus’ gentle touch and soothing voice (for just one moment; surely he’s allowed that), before shifting out from under Magnus’s arm.  

“I… I should go,” Alec says, the words thick and heavy on his tongue.  “Izzy.”

“I told her you were fine, and that you’d call her back in the morning.”  Magnus puts down the cup of water, and takes Alec’s hands in his.  “It’s cold out, and it’s late.  Stay here tonight.”

“I can’t.”  Alec slides his hands away and balls them into fists.  “I’ve already imposed on you enough—”

“Alexander,” Magnus interrupts.  “If you have some place to be, I won’t keep you.  But you are _always_ welcome in my home.”

Something in Alec unravels at those words _(how did Magnus know that Alec needed to hear those exact words tonight?  How does he always know?)._ He slumps against the sofa, feeling suddenly exhausted, like he’d just come from a long battle.  His eyes start to sting, and he ducks his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers, around the lump in his throat.  He wishes he was better with words, so he could properly express how grateful he is for Magnus’s kindness, for offering Alec not just a roof against the rain, but a sanctuary of acceptance and understanding.  “Thank you.”

He feels a soft kiss on his forehead, and he looks up.  Magnus’s smile is achingly kind, and more than a little bit sad.

“Anytime,” Magnus says, and kisses Alec again, this time on the mouth.  “Rest now.  You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He goes to sleep on Magnus’s surprisingly comfortable sofa, cocooned in a warm, knitted blanket.  Tomorrow, he’ll call Izzy.  And Jace.  And he’ll figure out what to do next.  Tomorrow...

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem, "Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX)":
> 
> Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink  
> Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;  
> Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink  
> And rise and sink and rise and sink again;  
> Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,  
> Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;  
> Yet many a man is making friends with death  
> Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.  
> It well may be that in a difficult hour,  
> Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,  
> Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,  
> I might be driven to sell your love for peace,  
> Or trade the memory of this night for food.  
> It well may be. I do not think I would.


End file.
